


In which John is beaten, Sherlock patches him up, and the author decides to stop writing

by obrui



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: "old shit that i found while i was clearing out my notes", "written for bab", Fluff, Hurt John Watson, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, fluff and whump tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-23
Updated: 2014-07-23
Packaged: 2018-02-10 01:56:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2006631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obrui/pseuds/obrui
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"in which the title serves as the summary and the author doesnt care enough to make this look presentable" (im not gonna finish this)</p>
            </blockquote>





	In which John is beaten, Sherlock patches him up, and the author decides to stop writing

It wasn't even dark yet, which is when people would usually assume there's a greater chance at being mugged. Statistically, however, there's little difference- but that's likely due to the fact that people do not often or by choice travel alone at night for reasons such as that.

In comparison, traveling alone during daylight, an assault is far from your mind. With my occupation in mind, however, any unlucky soul who thinks the tall posh bloke lurking in an alley would be a good target finds that I'm perfectly able and absolutely prepared. They'll also find themselves in the back of a police car shortly after.

I didn't worry about John being mugged, even with it being as regular in London as it is, him being able and prepared as well. Prepared for one, maybe two people- five was rare, five was not expected, five was something John was not at all prepared for but, being John, he still felt it necessary to put up a fight.

That's what I gathered immediately when John stumbled in- five people, steaming, fought back. This was all apparent in the missing bulge of his wallet and phone; the stub in his front pocket; and the broken nose split knuckles split lip gash on his cheek cracked rib- arm wrapped around his chest-, and the blood covering his face and clothes.

John.

There was a moment where he simply stared at me from the doorway and I stared back from my chair. He opened his mouth slowly, and then it began.

"Sherlock, I-" I flew up.

"John, are you-"

"Five people, I couldn't-"

"I know, I know it's ok John you need to-" His arm over my shoulder, we moved to the couch. "How much is it- face, anything on your torso besides rib?"

"They kicked- more than once, I don't- Sherlock it's alright,"

"-Do you need to go to a hospital?"

"No, no I don't, I'm fine-"

"You are not 'fine', John, hang on I'll get..." He'd laid down and I moved from the sofa to the kitchen, rummaged through the drawers until I found one of the first aid kits. I took that, along with a wet rag and the frozen bag of thumbs that I'd recovered from the trash and hid in the back of the freezer (for lack of alternative bagged frozen items at immediate disposal) back to John.

My heart was in my throat- I'd seen John hurt before, watched as it happened even. It wasn't something I would grow accustomed to.

John sent me a look when I handed him the bag, I chose to ignore it as I kneeled and opened the kit.

"Sherlock?"

"Yes."

"Thumbs."

"I'll get you a bag of ice later, pick where to put that before then." He sighed and held it under his eye, then against his nose, on his chest, against his cheek, as I gently wiped the blood off his face. Every time he'd hiss in a breath I found myself pulling my hand back for a moment in fear, letting it linger in guilt, and then starting again.

The rag was changed to a new shade of dark pink by the time it was all off. The gash on his cheek was a lot deeper than I had thought before.

"Your cheek needs stitches."

"Oh. I could-" He started to pull himself up, wincing before even getting halfway up. I pushed him- carefully- back down.

"You have at least one broken rib, and I don't know about possible organ damage- John, are you sure you don't want to go to a hospital?" He sighed.

"I'm sure, it's ok- I just, they took everything and I..." He eventually faded off, and this time I sighed.

"You're an idiot. John, they could have killed you, you should just let them take it and then we could have found them later, or, not fought back, you didn't need to put yourself in danger- they, I couldn't-" His laugh cut me off with a sputter and a frown. "What?"

"It's a bit backward, isn't it?"

"What is?"

"You telling me to be less reckless because I could get hurt."

"-Difference is you actually did get hurt."

"And you haven't?" My frown deepened, and the idiot actually laughed again. I could have kissed him, if not for the split lip. As an alternative I bent over him and kissed his head once quickly.

"You're an idiot."

"I love you too." I growled softly at him, but could feel the corners of my mouth going up even as I did.

"I'm going to put stitches in for you." He "mm"ed in response as I began threading the needle. What I lacked in medical skill or knowledge my steady hand made up- not that I was entirely lacking in knowledge. I'd had to give myself stitches countless times before I met John, when I, well..

I was careful enough with the needle that I finished quickly and efficiently, without redrawing blood and without John flinching and me tearing skin when he did- something that crossed my mind every time he even took a breath.

As I was cutting off the thread John was already trying to get up, at which I again pushed him back down.

"Torso."

"What?"

"I haven't checked that- and you are spectacularly good at pretending you're ok when you are not."

"-It's just my rib, you can't do anything about that, Sherlock."

"I could wrap it."

"Sherlock..."

"John." He sighed, and complied as I took off his jacket and started unbuttoning his shirt.


End file.
